


all the beats fell in between the silence that we shared

by bigfootsflannel



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Time Skip, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Sylvain Jose Gautier's Father's Bad Parenting, bed sharing, very very brief references to homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:49:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27604472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigfootsflannel/pseuds/bigfootsflannel
Summary: There aren't many things that Sylvain knows about his soulmate.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 148





	all the beats fell in between the silence that we shared

There aren't many things that Sylvain knows about his soulmate.

He knows that it's someone his parents wouldn't approve of. That could mean a couple of things - it could be someone from a prominent family that isn't up to their standards, or maybe it's something more basic than that. It could have been a man's name. Quietly, he suspects he already knows the answer to that question; no matter what, Margrave Gautier would have found a way to make it work in his favor if his son had a soulmark that could lend itself to any kind of political marriage. Then he could be seen as compassionate; many nobles don't actually end up marrying their soulmates, after all, out of one obligation or another.

He also knows that they are younger than him. Soulmarks only appear when the younger of the pair is born; he was young when he got his, but he hadn't been born with it. It's actually something he's kind of wondered about, if he would have so quickly become the favored son if he'd been born with an objectionable name on his skin. Or would he have been tossed aside like Miklan while his parents tried to produce a child who not only had a crest but wasn't defective in some other way?

The last thing he knows about his soulmate is that their name is probably fairly long. Based, at least, on the shape of the scar.

His first memory is of pain. He doesn't remember much of what was said (“Youʼve put it off long enough already, heʼll remember it,” his father had said), but he does remember the looks on his parentsʼ faces as his father had taken hold of his arm. His mother had looked torn, genuinely sorry for having been involved in this, but that was more or less worthless to him – she wasn't stopping this from happening to him. His fatherʼs face had shown nothing but shame in him.

Sometimes he can feel the fire like itʼs still there, licking at his skin. He can still feel the way his skin had bubbled up for days and any touch had made him flinch away even when it was his nurses trying to tenderly care for the wound. When he was younger he would urgently pull up his sleeve when he felt those phantom pains, as if somehow that feeling could be his mark coming back. It never did, and now he knows to never expect anything but an angry, ugly scar where there had once been a name.

The good - and bad - thing is that it's not unusual for people to keep their soulmatesʼ names private, so no one really questions him on the fact that he doesn't talk about his.

That doesn't stop the judgment that comes with the way he flirts, because how could he possibly dare do this. He's a noble, he has all the resources at his disposal to hunt down his soulmate if he wanted to, but instead he's focused more on bedding any woman who throws themselves in his path.

But there's something that feels good about feeling _something_. About making someone else hurt.

He knows that his soulmate, theoretically, could find him. After all, damage done to one person’s skin doesn’t mean a damn thing about the other’s. But he hasn’t seen any hint of that happening.

Maybe his soulmate is someone who has already heard of him and his reputation, and decided that they're just better off without him. That would serve him right.

Overall, he tries not to think about it. It's not like there's anything to be gained by dwelling on it. He wears long sleeves to cover up the mark - it just had to be somewhere so visible, didn't it? - and only occasionally rolls his sleeves up only when heʼs around people who have known him long enough that he couldn't possibly have hidden it.

* * *

Even though he knows itʼs unrealistic, he almost hopes from something to change when heʼs at the Officers Academy. After all, there are people from all over Fodlan - and beyond, as it turns out - so maybe heʼs got a shot.

It doesn't happen, and he knows that he won't get that lucky when he sees his friends have that very chance. He's happy for them, really - even if he's jealous of them and he hates himself for feeling that. He covers it up by making jokes when he sees Ingrid talking to Dorothea; he almost savors it when she hits him.

Sylvain almost forgets to want it entirely when heʼs distracted by being lucky enough to witness the year-long breakdown that ensues when Dimitri returns with the other house leaders and a pair of mercenaries, revealing that the young woman is the Byleth Eisner he had been waiting on meeting all his life. 

(With that in mind, she absolutely should not have been allowed to lead the Blue Lion house, but apparently the Archbishop must have some kind of a sense of humor, and Seteth hadn't been able to put his foot down about it fast enough. Itʼs fine, though, because she's a surprisingly capable instructor. Plus, the only thing funnier than watching Dimitri figure out how to interact with her is watching Felix try to reconcile his desire to train with her with how much he wants to completely distance himself from everything having to do with Dimitri.)

He almost expects to have the news broken that Felix, too, has found his soulmate when he's cornered in the hallway outside their dorm rooms about a week into their time at Garreg Mach. He seems nervous in a way that he never is, and he tugs briefly at the collar of his shirt.

“Still getting used to the uniform?” he asks with a little laugh. Maybe if he can get Felix to relax a little bit, then it'll be easier for him to get to whatever point he's come here to make.

“What? Oh,” he says, glancing down at himself and bringing his hands back down to his sides. “No. Itʼs fine. I just wanted to - ugh. Do you want to go get dinner?”

Sylvain suspects that that's not what he wanted to ask, but heʼs not going to turn him down anyway. “Sure thing.”

* * *

The night after Miklan dies, Felix ends up in Sylvain's room.

He brings him food and watches to make sure he eats it, and when Sylvain lies down to go to sleep, he joins him. He curls up close to him and holds him, his hand rubbing up and down Sylvain's arm in a soothing gesture until he falls asleep.

They don't talk, and it isn't enough to calm the storm in his head, but it helps. He doesn't have any nightmares that night.

* * *

There are a few more strange moments over the course of the year, where it feels like Felix wants to say something but doesn't. It drives Sylvain a little bit crazy wondering what it is that is happening with Felix, but he trusts him enough to know that if it is important, he will tell him eventually.

Theyʼve never talked about the soulmate thing. Theyʼve both known the names on Ingrid and Dimitri's bodies for years now, since both of them have been relatively open about it, and Felix knows that there's a scar where a name should be on Sylvain's skin, but Sylvain has no idea whose name Felix has. He doesnʼt even know where it is.

He wants to ask. He knows that Dimitri had tried to get it out of him when they were kids, but he'd always clam up, and Sylvain wasn't going to push his luck. And itʼs easier to have someone in his life who doesnʼt care about all that anyway.

The question of where Felix's mark is, at least, gets answered while theyʼre studying at the Officers Academy.

“Just wait till you see me in action,” he boasts as they make their way to the training ground one afternoon. “Maybe we donʼt even need the Lance of Ruin anymore.”

“Go ahead and throw it out, see how that works out for you,” Felix deadpans.

(He's completely right, of course. The lance has been sitting in his room gathering dust since the professor chose to give it back to him and sometimes looking at it gives him chills, but itʼs still a Relic and heʼs going to end up using it to defend his territory. He can hardly imagine how his father would react to being told that he wanted to fight using _magic_ instead.)

It’s almost funny, actually. He hadnʼt really cared much about learning reason, but he was here to learn, after all, and the professor was interested in getting them all out of their comfort zones a bit to train in ways they might not normally. And somehow heʼd actually found that he is pretty good with fire magic. He's never been afraid of fire, but being too close to it has always stirred up unpleasant feelings for him. It makes him itch. But being able to harness it like this now, it makes him feel… He doesn't really have words for it. But itʼs good.

“Anyway, I'll believe it when I see it,” Felix goes on, looking back at him for a moment.

He laughs, sticking his tongue out at him in a display of his maturity. “I think youʼre just jealous that I'm casting real spells while you’re still struggling with it.”

To his delight, Felix just huffs and rolls his eyes, with the slightest hint of a smile on his face. Sylvain likes to think that heʼs just about the only person who is allowed to tease Felix about this sort of thing; he doesnʼt like having weaknesses, after all, and not immediately taking to something he tries is certainly one way of making him feel like he has something to compensate for.

They warm up with their normal weapons anyway, in part because there's something just impressive about watching Felix handle a sword. They're familiar enough with each other and their fighting styles that it's practically like a dance, but itʼs the sort of familiar that comes as a strange sort of comfort. Felix is faster than him, which keeps him on his toes. He's always felt like he's gone through a real workout when he finishes up sparring with him.

Eventually, Felix puts the training sword back on the rack. “Alright. Show me what youʼve got,” he encourages.

He turns his attention to conjuring up fire, glancing back at Felix to make sure heʼs watching, as if heʼs a little kid again trying to show off a new trick he’s learned. Maybe he is.

There’s a look on Felixʼs face that makes it seem like he is actually, genuinely impressed, and it makes something pleasant warm up in his chest. It makes him want to show off a little bit more.

Sylvain knows that he should know better than to try to show off, especially given that he probably isn't going to actually impress Felix any more by it, but he canʼt help it. He looks back at him and gives him a wink before sending off a ball of fire towards a training dummy, sending it up in flames. Heʼs going to have to do something about that, and probably he'll have to take care of replacing it, but it's worth it to see the way Felix's eyebrows raise, a sure sign that he's duly impressed.

“See that? Iʼm a regular Annette,” he brags with a little laugh at the ridiculous nature of his words. “In fact…” He trails off, doing the same sort of little spin that the girl in question would do as he prepares to cast another spell, only to stutter step at the last second and instead send a little burst of flames in Felix's direction.

His heart drops into his stomach and he immediately decides heʼs never going to mess with fire again, though just as quickly he realizes that his worst fears havenʼt come to pass and Felix is fine (heʼs quick, so damn quick, and Sylvain has never been more grateful). Mostly, anyway. There is a candleʼs worth of fire on his sleeve, though technically speaking itʼs growing, and he looks more irritated by it than anything.

“Oh no, Felix!” Flayn has materialized seemingly out of nowhere, rushing over with a bucket of water in her hands. The dummy is still on fire, which Sylvain suspects is what the water originally was for, but instead she has redirected her attention to instead tossing it onto Felix.

Sylvainʼs first instinct is to laugh. He _does_ laugh, because heʼs never been good at controlling that impulse, and frankly, Felix reminds him of that time one of the monastery cats had fallen into the pond chasing after a fish, and the look on his face isnʼt helping things at all.

Flayn, being the kind soul that she is, is by Felixʼs side and is fussing at him. “Are you alright, Felix?” she asks, reaching for his arm and looking down at it. “Did you suffer any burns?”

Meanwhile, Sylvain is once again thoroughly distracted. Because of the water, Felixʼs white shirt is now much more see-through than usual and itʼs clinging to his skin, and on any other day Sylvain would simply take the opportunity to make some lewd comments and further earn Felixʼs ire. But he can just make out the telltale black line of script underneath Felix's shirt. It’s a little below his collarbone, resting over his heart.

It feels like he's floating as he watches him assure Flayn that he is perfectly fine and she continues to press the issue, until Felix finally snaps and yanks his wet, burnt sleeve and pulls it up his arm to demonstrate that he is perfectly fine. Sylvainʼs eyes are still stuck on Felix's chest. He canʼt even read the mark and yet heʼs completely bent out of shape over it, he’s a wreck. He realizes belatedly that he’s staring when Felix brushes past the petite girl and moves towards him.

“I’m going to go change before dinner,” Felix says, giving him a hard look that he canʼt quite read before brushing past him.

“Alright, I’ll meet you in the dining hall. Sorry for lighting you on fire,” he says, turning back to Flayn briefly. Sheʼs looking up at him with those big doe eyes. “Sorry about Felix, he can be a little touchy, you know? Thanks for your quick thinking. He wouldʼve been a goner.”

She covers her mouth with her hand as she giggles, shaking her head. “You should learn some healing magic if youʼre going to be doing things like that,” she tells him.

“Thatʼs… probably not a bad idea,” he admits.

* * *

It isnʼt like he hadnʼt already known that Felix had a soulmark, obviously. Everyone has them.

He doesnʼt know what difference it makes now that he knows where it is. He doesn't know why he even cares that much.

Maybe it’s that Felix had never talked about it, so it has always felt like it wasnʼt a thing. Like maybe he and Felix were in this together in a way.

It’s actually almost funny, where it is. Some people say that it’s good luck if your mark rests over your heart. They say it means youʼll have a better, deeper relationship with your soulmate. They say it means youʼll truly open your heart to that person.

Heʼs happy for Felix, really. He deserves that, after everything, even though he doubts that Felix believes in that sort of thing. Maybe he doesnʼt actually believe in soulmates at all, and thatʼs why he never talks about it.

Sylvain doesnʼt know what he believes. But a little part of him hates whoeverʼs name is there on Felixʼs skin. They get to have Felix. Maybe theyʼll mean more to him than Sylvain does.

* * *

The year marches on.

At one point (not long after the incident at the training grounds, which makes him wonder if she saw right through him), Flayn finds out about what had happened to his mark, and she tries to work her magic on the scar. He appreciates the effort, but he knows that it’s a lost cause. She seems genuinely upset when she canʼt fix the situation, and that counts for enough. In spite of being a vocal critic of him when they first met, she cares.

He keeps working on his own magic, learns to heal like he said he should, and on top of that he never catches anyone else on fire. He helps Felix with his own reason magic, and between him and Byleth, eventually Felix can cast a mean Thoron.

Sometimes Felix will join him in his room in the evenings. Occasionally the feeling that there is something he wants to say returns, but it never turns out to be anything and Sylvain isnʼt going to push his luck. Not when Felix asks him to help him study, or when heʼll let him touch his hair. It feels like a religious experience.

When the winter sets in, Felix will even pad down to his room some nights, and join him in his bed because it’s “too damn cold” out. Sylvain teases him for it but he actually kind of cherishes it. Sometimes when Felix is asleep, he’s tempted to push his shirt out of the way and find out what his soulmark says. The only things holding him back are the fact that out of all people, he canʼt betray Felixʼs trust, and he also might just be, well, afraid of knowing. That will make it all the more real, and he knows he doesn't want that. It feels so much better to just turn his brain off when it comes to thoughts of Felixʼs soulmate.

One night, Felix is curled up against his chest, and Sylvain is pretty sure that this is what love is supposed to feel like. It is a far less frightening revelation than it should be.

“You know, if you wanted to, you could probably get more blankets or something,” he comments. He mostly can't really wrap his head around why this is even happening. He knows that it wasn't exactly uncommon for them to share a bed when they were children and Felix was just as bad at keeping warm as he is now, but they are adults now and it feels a little surreal given how much distance Felix puts between himself and literally everyone else around him.

Felix glances up at him, the look on his face telling him that he has just said something stupid. “I don't want more blankets,” he says. “If you're trying to tell me to give you space, you can say so.”

“I don't want you to give me space.”

And thatʼs that.

They have the day off the next day, and even though Felix would usually take the opportunity to train, they stay in bed most of the day instead. They talk about nothing and sometimes they doze off a little bit, and Felix lays on top of him, a gentle weight that makes all of his stressors melt away.

The whole thing has a dreamlike quality to it that almost doesn’t feel real. Felix never mentions these encounters outside of Sylvain’s room, and neither does he, even though it makes him wonder if maybe he truly is fabricating it all in his head.

But itʼs the best luck he’s had in this life, and he isnʼt about to question a good thing.

* * *

Everything has felt for some time like it's been building up to something, but Sylvain never could have guessed that this would be it: Dimitri snaps, Edelgard declares war, and nothing feels guaranteed anymore.

The night before the Empire army is expected to arrive, Felix arrives at Sylvain's door again, in his night clothes and looking mildly agitated. Itʼs late, and they should probably both be resting up, though he doubts anyone in the entire monastery is getting much rest tonight.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks. “I can try and help you chase away the nightmares if you like.”

“I - ” Felix starts, and then stops for a moment. He looks like he wants to be annoyed with him, but it’s also clear just by looking at him that there’s something bothering him. More than just the impending battle, anyway. “I just think we should talk.”

For once, Sylvain has the common sense to keep his smart mouth shut, and simply step back to let Felix enter the room.

Once they’re alone in the quiet, relative dark of the room, Sylvain sits down on the bed, honestly expecting Felix to do the same. For all that Felix had said they should talk, it also seems entirely too much like both of them to just take the easy way out and avoid whatever it is. But Felix paces for a moment before, seeming to catch himself, he stops suddenly and turns to face Sylvain.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. Or any day after that,” he says. “But I have been acting like a fool about this for far too long now, and I’d rather not take any stupid chances.”

Sylvain almost wants to cut in there and point out that, typically speaking, he is the one who has stupid ideas and follows them to their often equally stupid consequences, but there’s something kind of disarming about how Felix is speaking.

“I’ve been a coward, Sylvain,” he says, and the eye contact he makes then makes Sylvain want to squirm under his attention. “I have never known how to say this. The past few months… I thought maybe I could just…” He lets out a frustrated sound, shaking his head. Sylvain desperately wants to know how each of those thoughts was supposed to end.

All too suddenly, Felix is reaching for his own shirt, tugging at the collar. “It’s about time you knew.”

“Woah, Fe,” he says, rising to his feet and moving towards him. “I don’t - whatever you think, ah, I don’t. I don’t need to know.” For all that he's been curious all this time, he suddenly desperately doesn't want to know.

“Yes, you do,” Felix says firmly, shaking his head. He pushes Sylvain’s hands away from where they’re now hovering in the air near his own, and the redhead feels frozen in place as the top button of Felix’s shirt gives and he’s able to pull the fabric away enough to reveal his soulmark.

_Sylvain Jose Gautier._

At first, Sylvain is sure that this is a joke. Or maybe he truly has been dreaming all of this up, and this is just the culmination of his mind’s cruel trick. But Felix is here in front of him, solid and real, and he knows somehow that this is genuine.

“I don’t…” he starts. For once in his life, he doesn’t have any words. His hand is reaching out to touch Felix’s skin, and he can feel those sharp eyes on him, and his hand is shaking, but he’s never felt more right than he has just like this, getting to run his fingers along the little letters making up _his_ name on _Felix’s_ skin.

“I know,” Felix says after a moment, and his voice sounds thick like he’s on the edge of tears. “I’m sorry.”

“You - why are you sorry?”

Looking down, Felix lets out a long breath. “I knew all this time, and I never said a damn thing.”

Maybe, to be fair, Sylvain could be upset with him for that. Maybe later he’ll get around to it, once it’s sunk in that they’ve got so much lost time to make up for. “Why?” he asks instead; he’s sure that Felix had to have had his reasons.

“You know the Margrave wasn’t exactly… happy about it,” he says. He looks down at Sylvain’s arm, reaching for his wrist and lifting it up to look. His other hand moves over the scar, and there’s a deep mourning on his face that almost rivals the expression he had worn in the time after Duscur. “Obviously, he didn’t want you to find out about my mark. It would have defeated the purpose of putting you through this. I’m told he tried to convince my old man to do the same to me.”

Sylvain can only nod, encouraging him to go on. He wants to say something, but he can’t, too enraptured by Felix’s voice and the way he can feel his heart beating under his hand. This all makes sense, though it's also sloppy work on his father's part - it's surprising that he didn't know the truth about Felix's mark long before now. But he supposes that maiming - or worse, outright killing - the son of the second most important family in Faerghus wouldn't have exactly been a prudent move.

“I don’t know what he threatened my father with, and I can’t remember what exactly he said to _me_ anymore,” he goes on, a small frown on his face, “But it was enough to keep me quiet when I was a kid.” It’s true, Felix had never been much of a fan of Margrave Gautier; Sylvain had assumed it was for any of the other perfectly worthy reasons. “And then when I got older… My father managed to convince me that it would be for the best to wait to tell you.”

 _Wait_ , he said, like maybe he had never considered it an option to just outright never tell Sylvain. He might be reading too much into it, but it felt good to think nonetheless. “Wait for what?” he asks.

“Ultimately, we agreed that it would be best to wait until we came here. Away from your father’s influence,” he says.

“Oh.” Sylvain feels a little bit like an idiot for just standing here gaping at Felix, but that also feels like just about all he’s got in him at the moment. For once, Felix has to be the one doing the talking.

“I meant to, months ago,” he goes on. “And I should have. But it’s too late to regret that. All I can do is avoid regretting anything worse. If something happens to either of us… I needed to know that you knew.”

Sylvain’s mouth seems to want to take action, but his brain won’t supply him any words, so instead he finds himself surging forward, his hands coming to rest on either side of Felix’s face as he kisses him. It’s a strange combination of urgent and tender, but Felix answers it with just as much urgency and feeling.

He mourns it when he pulls back, looking down at Felix. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks and his shirt is still open enough for Sylvain to read his name there, and he’s never seen anyone so beautiful in his life.

“I love you,” he tells him, because while it might be far too soon to say it, Felix is right about not having regrets. He needs to say it, especially in light of what he knows now.

Felix moves closer to him again. “I know you do,” he says after struggling with his words for a moment, and Sylvain knows intuitively that what he means is _I love you too._

There is so much more that he wants to say. He wants to ask Felix about everything, wants to talk about what this means for them. But he takes hold of Felix's hand and tugs him over to the bed. “Stay with me tonight?”

Felix nods immediately, as if that wasn't even a question that needed to be asked. He nudges Sylvain to lay down and he curls up against him. He had been thinking since these visits started that it feels like Felix belongs there. It's strange to that that he really, truly does.

He moves to wrap his arm around his waist but Felix catches his arm in his hand. He hesitates for a second, eyes flicking briefly up to Sylvain's face, before he leans up to press a gentle kiss to the scar where his name had once been. “I'm sorry,” he whispers again against his skin.

If there's anything in the world that could have wiped away the scar and given him back Felix's name, it would have been that kiss, Sylvain thinks. It feels healing, in a way, but he knows it doesn't work like that. “It's not your fault,” he tells him, his fingers running through his hair before letting his arm settle around him as he'd intended to do. A moment later, he goes on, “I'll get a new one.”

“You'll what?”

“Yeah. After this Empire mess is over, I'll get one to match yours,” he says. He can't help but get a little bit more excited at the thought. “Sure, it won't be given to me by the Goddess - unless you think the professor could arrange something? - but I could still get a do-over. Like Petra's marks, you know? Maybe I'll even get it on my face like hers. See if the Margrave could stop me then.”

Felix scoffs, but the sound is hastily covering a laugh. He's smiling, and the last of his tension melts away. “You're an idiot.”

“Yeah, well... I think I am onto something, though. Let's talk about it tomorrow,” he says.

Felix nods and then buries his face against the curve of Sylvain's neck.

The sleep they get is uneasy, knowing that they have no idea what the next day will hold, but Sylvain feels a little bit invincible; he's not going to lose this so soon after getting it, he knows that much.

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't find a way to organically include this, but I really like the thought of lil bb felix knowing he's not allowed to tell sylvain they're soulmates and deciding to make him promise they'll be together forever anyway
> 
> i am also [on twitter](https://twitter.com/bigfootsflannel)


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